Two Steps Back and One to the Right
by The Crownless Queen
Summary: It should be a bad idea - in fact, Hermione would probably insist that it is the worst one Harry's ever had. But really, Harry would like to see her resist his younger self's sad eyes - truly, he had no choice but to act and take the boy with him, even if that meant surrendering any hope he might have had to get back to his own time. Harry raises Harry, time travel, AU.
1. In The Beginning There Was A Boy

This was written for the Care of Magical Creatures assignment at Hogwarts (write about someone who is fiercely protective of another person). I didn't mean to start another MC but I seem to be unable to stop myself.

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 **Chapter 1: In The Beginning There Was a Boy**

Harry doesn't really know what led his feet toward Privet's Drive. Sentiment, perhaps. It's a bad idea – his worst one yet, probably – but once he's had it there was no ignoring it.

It's weird though, to be back there, much weirder than it was in the magical world. For all the time that Harry had spent there, it's only now that he has gone back in time that he realizes how little the wizarding world has changed over the years.

In contrast, stepping in the muggle world is like stepping in another country. Everything is different, and for perhaps the first time Harry truly does realize that this isn't his own time anymore.

It had been so easy to fool himself, back in Diagon Alley, to think that maybe it was all a joke or a mistake. But this – the way Privet Drive looks exactly the way he remembers it looking before he had known the wonders of magic – this can't be faked.

This drives home the fact that he really is back in the past – in his own past, actually – no matter how impossible such a thing should be.

He nods absentmindedly at the people who were once his neighbors, noting with a kind of amused contempt that they don't appear to hate him for once – and why would they, really, when in all appearances he is rich and powerful and everything they like to gossip about?

It would be so easy to hate them – hate how blind they were to what the Dursleys did to him just a street over, how nobody ever, ever helped him – but Harry has seen too much of what hate can do to spread it so freely.

With luck, he will never see those people again, and that will be enough for him.

It isn't until he stops in front of the number 4, the perfect little house he remembers spending days upon days cleaning, that he realizes that there is more to this little trip than simply going down memory's lane.

His younger self is there, pruning the roses under the glaring sun with no protection whatsoever. He looks so small in the baggy, ratty clothes Harry knows belonged to Dudley, and almost as resigned as he is afraid, shooting back furtive looks inside the house to see if anyone is there.

The worst thing about all this is that Harry doesn't remember this day at all. Or rather he does, but it's lost in an endless sea of days just like it.

Harry can already tell how it will end: if he's lucky, the boy will be send off to his cupboard with a glass of water and a piece of too dry bread after he cooks dinner for his relative, and is forced to watch them eat. The next day will be much of the same, until Harry gets sick under the sun and is stuck inside his cupboard while he recuperates.

If he's not – if he doesn't finish all of his chores, if they're not done to Petunia and Vernon's impossibly high standards, he won't get to eat. There's no school for him to go to, not in the summer, so they can keep him locked up for days, and while that will be a respite from the sun, Harry only remembers too well the feel of the walls pressing down on him or the way his legs cramped after staying still for too long.

It burns in the back of his throat now, to remember this.

It hurts, to know that no one will come for the boy in front of him – because no one ever came for him, not really.

He's moving before he realizes it, crouching in front of the small boy he used to be, looking straight into his own emerald eyes – only they're not his own, are they, because for all that this boy has already been through he still holds more tightly to his hopes than Harry could ever manage to these days.

"Hello Harry. Would you like to come with me?"

The words slip out of his mouth like they're the most natural thing, like the conclusion of some story Harry hadn't even know he had been writing, and Harry can see the moment they register in his younger self's mind by the way his eyes suddenly brighten, shining with tears and a terrifyingly fragile hope.

And Merlin, but if this is a bad idea let it be the only one he ever needs to make, because right now, there is nothing he wouldn't do to keep that shivering hope alive and well – to keep this boy safe.

Is it selfish, to want your younger self to be happy? Harry think it might be, but as the boy slips a (too) tiny hand in his, Harry finds himself contemplating the future this could bring, and he can't find in himself the will to regret it.

But if this means that this Harry never has to spend another night locked in a cupboard again, let him be selfish. If this means that this Harry can grow up with something akin to real family, then anything Harry does or has ever done will have been worth it. Will be worth it.

Of course there are some things to consider first. Harry will have to deal with the Dursleys – it shouldn't be too hard, Harry knows, and it is terribly bittersweet to know that the boy's only blood family will probably let him go easily. He will have to make himself room in this time too – will probably have to change his name too, because there can only be one Harry Potter, and that place should be taken by the one who has all of his life before him.

There are so many things he could do, even more he will do, probably, and it almost seems like more than he can bear, more than he can possibly conceive.

But his younger self is hanging on his hand like it's his only lifeline, and his eyes are full of hope and joy for all that they're guarded still, and well, there's no way Harry can turn back now. No way he can't do anything but protect the kid.

It makes him shiver, to think of the lengths he already knows he would go to do just that – but well, if anyone deserves it, it would be this child, who is already pulling at his heartstrings in the way every person precious to him always does.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Harry, don't worry about me," he answers with a kind smile, ruffling the boy's hair with his free hand. The boy's eyes are wide and he almost flinches, and Harry's heart feels too big for his chest.

The boy bites his lips but he keeps staring, and when Harry moves his hand away he asks, "Can I really go with you?"

"Of course," Harry answers. They stop in front of the door and Harry kneels, letting go of the boy's hand to place his on the kid's shoulders. "As long as you want to."

The boy's eyes water and he nods voicelessly before he _moves_ and before he knows it Harry's being hugged. It steals his breath away and Harry himself even has to blink a few tears away as he pats the boy on the back somewhat awkwardly.

"Of course I want to," comes the boy's muffled voice against Harry's shirt, and Harry's lips quirk up as they echo exactly the thoughts he would have had in the boy's place.

"Well then you'll be coming with me."

The boy's answering smile, when he leans back to look up at Harry's face, is radiant.

Harry's knees creak when he stands up – a fact that makes his young counterpart giggle shyly – and Harry ignores it with practiced ease. The boy takes his hand again and holds it tighter than ever, and he seems to almost vibrate with excitement as Harry finally moves to open the door.

It opens easily, a silent invitation to come inside that Harry accepts readily, his younger self half a step behind, huddled against his legs.

This too, feels like stepping right into a memory. It is so much more potent however: where Privet's Drive was simply uncomfortably familiar, this feels like a punch to the gut. The cupboard that used to be his – that in this timeline, still belongs to the shy but bright boy who holds his hands – is closed, as it always is, but for all that it looks so common-place in this house, to Harry's eyes it looks like a gaping wound, raw and bleeding.

He's surprised at the strength of his anger – a burning fire storming in his gut, turning the edges of his vision just a little red, where he only expected the dying embers of the resentment mixed with the regret of lost opportunities he's long come to associate with his blood family.

But, he realizes slowly, this time he's not angry for himself – or well, not as such – but on the behalf of someone else, and if there's one thing Harry's learned about himself is that his anger can be a frightening thing when it's caused by injustice done to others.

It is only because his anger won't serve him well that he swallows it back, promising himself to deal with it later. He won't hurt the Dursleys, not even now, but there are so many ways to curse them without actually _harming_ them. Sometimes, Harry even thinks the Marauders invented them all, and for all that Harry has never really acted on those instincts, he is still the son of a prankster and the godson of another – the Dursleys will never see it coming.

They find Petunia in the kitchen. Dudley isn't here – probably with his 'friends', running around the neighborhood and terrorizing every kid they find – and Vernon is at work, and for that Harry is truly grateful. This will go so much easier with just Petunia to deal with.

Petunia, for all that she hides it exceptionally well, holds in her heart at least a modicum of something like 'love' for her nephew, unlike the rest of her family. If she thinks he won't harm the boy – well, not more than they do anyway – and that he won't come back for her family, she will probably let him go without much of a fight.

His aunt looks exactly as he remembers. She has maybe a few less wrinkles, but she holds herself with the same kind of rigid strength as she busies herself in the kitchen, and her voice sounds as shrill as he can recall when she finally spots them.

"Who are you?! How did you get in?!"

Behind him, his younger self shuffles closer. Harry can see the moment Petunia realizes the boy is there as well because her lips purse even more, turning so thin as to be almost invisible, and her grips tightens on the back of the chair she'd grabbed when she had first noticed him.

He can tell the moment she takes in his features, so similar to the nephew she's been raising, and comes to the conclusion that whoever he is, he's the boy's family. She doesn't relax, not entirely, but knowing the woman's interactions with the magical world, Harry doesn't think he can blame her. She does look slightly less suspicious though, and Harry will take it.

"Who are you?" She repeats, tone biting and insistent.

He can feel Harry shiver behind him, burrowing on himself in an attempt to make himself seem smaller, and he only knows the name he's going to give half a second before it passes his lips.

"Hadrian," he says, sketching a half bow that is more mocking than it is respectful. And then, because this will be the greatest joke he'll ever pull off – the greatest lie he'll ever tell, because it isn't even that much of a lie – and because he can't resist, he adds the only last name that will work for him in this time, "Evans. Hadrian Evans."

 **.x.**

After the war, Hadrian had done some digging in his parents' past. He had heard only a few stories about them, passed on by Sirius and later Remus, before they both passed away, and all that Hadrian had of them were some pictures carefully preserved in a photo album.

It hadn't been enough, and so, with nothing better to actually fill his days, Hadrian had spent a few months looking for more stories, for more pictures.

Surprisingly – or perhaps not, considering how much more widespread photography was in the muggle world - finding information about the Evans' family had been much easier than finding true information about the Potter's. Then again, most everyone in James Potter's generation was either dead or in jail. Either way, they couldn't really talk.

Number Four had been left untouched – Hadrian didn't know whether or not he had been relieved when he had Apparated there and found the house as he had left it, but the boxes of memorabilia in the attic had been an unexpected treasure trove.

There had been a few journals, their dusty pages cracking with age, the handwriting childish and at times illegible, and even more pictures. Black and white stills of an older couple Hadrian had quickly realized where the grandparents he had never known, an envelope filled with the smiling faces of two girls Hadrian couldn't not identify as his own mother and aunt.

And then there had been the letters. Shared correspondence between husband and wife, between mother, father and daughter, tucked away in old books that Hadrian now knew had belonged to his grandmother, a woman who had loved a good crime mystery and had passed on that love to her youngest daughter.

It had been those letters that had allowed Hadrian to reconstruct a sort of timeline for his mother's childhood, and even, after some more digging, his grandparents' lives. It was because of those letters, where a young Lily had once tried to console her broken-hearted mother, that Hadrian had learned that his grandfather had not been an entirely faithful man.

Hadrian has the man's eyes – eyes he shared with his mother, and now with young Harry – and the Evans' small stature, and anything else can be explained on a black-haired woman who could have shared her son's delicate features.

It hurts Hadrian's heart, to lie so about his parents, but for Harry – to take care of the boy – he would do this and more without flinching.

"I don't have a brother," Petunia says, but Hadrian can see in her eyes that she's doubting, casting her mind back to her childhood, wondering _can it be?_

Looking straight into her eyes, it is no trouble to push the thought _yes it can_ to the forefront, bringing back the memories of those days when her parents had been fighting, her father constantly apologetic, bringing home bigger and greater gifts each week, her mother in turns sad and angry, until it had all stopped and they had one day made up.

"I'm afraid that you do," Hadrian answers smoothly, forcing an apologetic smile on his lips. "I assure you, it was to me as much of a surprise as it is to you. My mother never told much about my father, and she certainly never said anything about any siblings." That much is true, at least, even if only because his mother never got the chance to tell him much of anything at all, and that truth helps him relax a little.

"A surprise, yes," Petunia echoes lightly. She looks the most taken-aback he's ever seen her, and later – once they're far away – Hadrian will laugh at the memory the way he wants to now. "It is certainly that."

Hadrian nods regally. Harry, who had stayed silent until then, chooses that moment to speak, his voice soft and full of wonder. "You're my uncle then?"

For some reason, the lie hurts a little more now – Merlin, he really doesn't want to lie to a child, much less this one, but what choice does he really have? "Yes," Hadrian replies nonetheless, tugging on Harry's hand so that the boy comes to stand beside him instead of behind him.

Harry subsides then, clearly considering the implications, and Hadrian turns back to the once-aunt he's now claimed as a half-sister. He smiles again, and this time he lets a portion of the rage he feels as how Harry was treated show.

From the way Petunia barely conceals a shiver, it must look pretty fierce.

"Imagine my surprise," he begins, taking care to add some bite to his words even as his smile turns cold and sharp, "when I found that I also had two nephews, and that when I finally decided to visit, I found one of them working harder than any boy his age should."

Petunia blanches at that, and Hadrian knows he has her now. It's almost sad, actually, how easy it was, but well. Petunia never really stood a chance, not when Harry is fighting to protect someone he cares about, not when he has magic on his side to ease the process.

Still, she tries to protest, to contest his claim. "The boy likes the work." Even to her own ears, it must sound weak, because she blanches even further, and Hadrian can feel his lips curl up in a smirk.

"I'm sure," he drawls, arching an eyebrow in his best Snape impression. "In fact, I believe that if I were to ask _Harry_ for his opinion, he would say the same, wouldn't he?"

It takes a little nudge, but once Harry realizes he's being addressed his eyes widen and he stammers out the truth, that he really doesn't like being outside by this heat. "And the thorns on the stems keep cutting into my fingers too," he adds, voice so low as to be almost inaudible. He's trembling, and Hadrian knows it's because he's afraid of what the Dursleys would usually do to him for complaining in such a way.

Hadrian tucks him against his side, wrapping a protective arm around the boy's shoulders, and sends an unimpressed look Petunia's way.

"The boy doesn't know what he's talking about," she tries again, and Hadrian knows before she even starts that she's about to launch into one of her 'discredit Harry' speeches.

"I'll stop you right there," Hadrian interrupts, lips still curled up in contempt. "I will be leaving with Harry, and nothing you can say will change my mind." And then, because if there is anyone he can be cruel with, it is Petunia Dursley, he adds, "After all, I do believe I am a better more fit to raise such a _problematic_ child than you are."

He drawls the word 'problematic' with such dry sarcasm as to make it undeniable that it meant anything but the word's actual meaning, and Harry giggles against his chest.

If possible, Petunia seems to blanch even more, before her anger colors her cheeks red. "You're one of them!" She accuses, pointing at his and backing away.

"I am," Hadrian replies, amused despite himself. He almost takes a step forward, just to see what she would do, but in the end he reconsiders and stays where he is. He doesn't have to wait for long.

"Take him then! Just take him!"

"Thank you," Hadrian replies, allowing his lips to stretch into a much truer smile this time. He lets go of Harry for a moment, looking the child in the eyes. "Why don't you go gather your stuff then, Harry? We'll be leaving as soon as you're done."

"For real?" The boy's tone, full of wonder and excitement, is almost painful to Hadrian's ears, but he forces himself to nod.

"I swear."

The boy practically runs off then, and Hadrian knows he doesn't have much time left with Petunia.

"I did my best, you know."

"I'm sure," Hadrian answers absent-mindedly, wondering why she even bothers trying to justify herself now.

"He'll be safe?"

"Safer than with you," Hadrian scoffs. To her credit, Petunia doesn't protest and only looks like she wants to.

They stand there in silence until Harry returns, a small ratty backpack on his shoulders, but by then Petunia looks at them with something like acceptance.

"Goodbye sister," Hadrian says, wishing the words didn't taste so slimy in his mouth. He holds his hand out for Harry, and the boy grasps it just as eagerly this time as all the others before it.

"Goodbye Aunt Petunia," the boy echoes timidly, but when he looks up at Hadrian, his eyes are shining with trust and happiness.

"Goodbye," Petunia replies, her lips pressed tight.

She doesn't escort them to the door, but her heavy gaze seems to follow them well into the street anyway.

Hadrian isn't sad to leave her behind, and from the looks of things, neither is Harry.

"Thank you," the boy finally mutters once the number four is no longer in sight. Those two words are like a dam that's been opened, because as soon as he says them, Harry starts crying, burying his head against Hadrian's stomach.

They don't move for a while, not until Harry's shoulders finally stop shaking and the boy leans away, rubbing at his wet face and runny nose with his sleeves.

"What is it?" Hadrian asks, even though he thinks he already knows.

"I didn't think anyone would ever come," Harry admits quietly.

"Well, I'm here now," Hadrian replies, projecting a confidence he's not really feeling into his words. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

He doesn't realizes it's the truth until he says it, but once he has – once Harry has looked up to him with those big soulful eyes of his, Hadrian knows he can't turn back now, can't go back on his word. It hurts terribly, to know that keeping Harry now also means renouncing to any hope of going back to his own time – to his own life (not that there had been much of it in the first place, but still) – but Hadrian wouldn't trade it away for anything.

"I'm staying right here," he repeats, and tries to ignore the way the words sort of make him feel like he's free-falling. With Harry there, it's almost easy. "Now come on, are you ready to go home?"

The boy's eyes go almost impossibly wide as his lips move to echo the word 'home', and Hadrian laughs.

It's perhaps the first time he's laughed since he crash-landed in this time, but it feels good. It feels like something new – like something that could even be great.

Maybe, he thinks as he Apparates away with Harry, coming here wasn't such a bad idea.


	2. A House Isn't A Home

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, follow and favorited this, it means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this second chapter too.

General warnings for past child abuse and Harry's terrible childhood with the Dursleys.

 **Chapter 2: A House Isn't A Home**

Hermione used to tell him that he had a 'saving people thing'. It hurts now, to think of his best friend in the past tense – he will never see her again, not stranded as he is in another time – but even so, it is only a bittersweet kind of hurt. She probably wouldn't have approved of Hadrian's plan, or rather, of the lack thereof, but he likes to think that she'd have approved of the sentiment behind it, or at the very least understood it.

Ron definitely would have, though he'd also have shaken his head at Hadrian first. _Only you, mate_. Hadrian doesn't need to think about it much to know what his best friend would say about all this. What his best friend _ **s**_ would say.

Logically, Hadrian knows he should have waited. Taking Harry with him now, so suddenly, can only come back to bite him later. He doesn't have anything ready for the boy, not yet, and though now his mind is racing with ideas and half-baked plans, it will take time for any of them to truly hatch, for anything to really happen.

For Merlin's sake, he doesn't even have a house. He will need one though – will need some kind of job too, a legal way to make money, and an identity in the Muggle world that confirms the story he just told Petunia. The thought of all this work is daunting, but one look at Harry, at the too small boy by his side, staring wide-eyed at the forest that replaced the perfectly symmetrical streets of Privet Drive, is all the reminder he needs to know that this will be worth all the hassle.

"Everything okay?" Hadrian asks worriedly. He remembers the first time he Apparated, and it hadn't felt nice. He can't imagine Harry feels any different about it, or that it was better because the boy was younger.

Harry nods mutely. He turns on himself, taking in their surroundings while Hadrian hangs back. He looks so curious it's almost painful to watch, fingers twisting at the hem of his shirt, and it breaks Hadrian's heart to remember the Dursleys' first rule of _Don't ask questions_.

"You can ask me anything you'd like to," he offers, and nothing could have prepared him for the way Harry's face lights up, nor for the literal avalanche of questions that follows.

"Where are we? Do you live here? In the forest? How did we get here?" And then, in a quieter voice, eyes cast down, "Are you really my uncle too?"

Hadrian nods, ruffling Harry's hair and wishing he didn't have to lie. But well, as Hermione once told him, _Terrible things happen to wizards who mess around with time_. So far Hadrian's been lucky, but he doesn't really want to tempt fate when he has no idea how Harry would take it. It's probably kinder, anyway, to have the boy think he has a living family that wants him, truly wants him.

"We're family, kid," Hadrian replies with a soft smile. "I wasn't about to leave you behind. Plus, between you and me, I quite enjoyed getting one over your aunt Petunia." He winks, delighting in the way Harry tries to hide a smile and muffle a laugh. "And to answer your questions, we're in the Forest of Dean. I used to camp here with some good friends of mine, and as I am unfortunately in between places for now, this will have to do…"

His face is caught between a smile and a frown as he remembers the past and thinks about the future. He almost snorts at the way he described the year Hermione, Ron and he spent running around the country. If only they could hear him now.

"As for your last question… Well, to put it quite simply, the answer is _magic_."

"Magic isn't real," comes Harry's automatic answer, ingrained by years of the Dursleys' hatred for anything different. Even now, Hadrian doesn't think he would have believed Hagrid hadn't the half-giant shown him actual magic.

Eyes twinkling, Hadrian answers, "I assure you, magic is very real. How else would you explain us ending up all over here when a moment ago we were in Privet's Drive?"

"Maybe you drugged me," Harry suggests, but Hadrian can already tell he's wavering. The kid wants to believe, after all, and really, who wouldn't?

Hadrian almost laughs, and he can't quite conceal his smile. "I didn't drug you, Harry," he replies, rolling his eyes a little. "We Apparated here, with magic. Here, let me show it to you." He wipes out his wand and Harry flinches back.

Hadrian winces. "Sorry about that. But here, look. _Avis_ ," he says, trailing his wand with the gestures he's learned to know by heart. _Avis_ is one of Hermione's favorite spells, and for that only it would hold a special place in Hadrian's heart. Luckily, it is also very handy in a fight, as the birds can serve as both a distraction and a shield. As an Auror, Hadrian used to for both purposes quite often.

"Oh," Harry gasps, eyes wide open as he leans forward. It takes only a bit of focus to get one of the conjured birds to land on the boy's shoulder, beak ruffling at his hair. "Are they real?"

"They're not really alive, if that's what you mean. They'll vanish once I cancel the spell, or when the magic runs out, but in the meantime they're just as real as you and I."

"Can I touch it?" Harry asks hesitantly.

"Of course," Hadrian replies, smiling a little. "But be careful, they're not pets." He could make them be that, but it would feel too much like controlling them, like using the Imperio, and Hadrian's done that enough for a lifetime. Maybe it's hypocritical of him, to readily use these conjured creatures as shields and yet refuse to use them as pets, but he has to draw the line somewhere. He guesses rewriting their will so much the animal's personalities change completely is as good of a place as any.

"Okay," Harry says, fingers already reaching to softly pet the little head of the creature on his shoulder. "He's so soft…" He adds, eyes wide with wonder.

Hadrian simply hums. The scene makes him uncomfortable. It's been years since he lost Hedwig, but though the pang of loss has dulled, Hadrian's never been able to get as close to another owl, or another familiar, than he had been to his first friend. Seeing Harry so freely befriend a conjured creature almost hurts, and he hadn't expected that.

"So you believe me now?" Hadrian asks in an attempt to change the subject.

"I guess," Harry replies, still engrossed with the bird on his shoulder. Somehow, Hadrian can already tell parting those two will be difficult, and that it will probably end in heartbreak. "What species is he?"

"A robin. This spell usually conjures small birds, and mine have always been robins. They tend to change a little from wizard to wizard though."

"So you're a wizard then?" Harry asks curiously, stopping his petting as his attention refocuses on Hadrian.

"I am," Hadrian nods. "And so are you, Harry."

Hadrian can see that it doesn't compute in Harry's head. "No I'm not. I mean, I can't be. I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, you are."

"Are you sure?" Harry questions, frowning.

"Yes," Hadrian replies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. He really doesn't remember having been so hard to convince. "You're a wizard, Harry." It's bittersweet, to steal what once was Hagrid's role, but somehow Hadrian doesn't think his old friend would have minded much.

"But how? I'm nothing special, I'm just Harry." He almost sounds pleading, and Hadrian's heart softens at the sound.

"Well, just Harry, you're a wizard too," Hadrian says, mouth quirking up in a smile. "I bet you'll be a great one too – might even be greater than me one day." He almost laughs at how disbelieving the boy looks at that last part, but hastens to continue his explanation. "Tell me, did you ever notice any odd things happening around you, by any chance? Things that you couldn't explain? Things that happened when you were angry, or scared?"

Harry perks up visibly. "Were those magic?"

"So odd things did happen then." Hadrian notes, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

Harry flushes, tripping over his words in his excitement. "I think so. Like this one time Aunt Petunia put my- Well, she tried to get me to pull on one of Dudley's old sweaters, but it kept shrinking and I really didn't want to put it on, so doyouthinkIdidthat?" He says the last part so fast Hadrian doesn't understand a word of it, but he doesn't need to. He remembers the incident well enough from his own childhood, and the thought of it makes him laugh a little.

"That was magic alright," he confirms.

"I thought the washing machine had done it though. That's wat Aunt Petunia said anyway."

"Well kid, let me tell you one secret: your Aunt Petunia doesn't know everything, especially not when it comes to magic."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wow," Harry breathes out. "I have magic. I'm a wizard. I'm a _wizard_!"

"Congratulations," Hadrian smirks, ruffling the boy's hair again, before huffing as Harry hugs him again.

For being so small, the kid has one tight grip, and the way he practically throws himself in Hadrian's arms is as surprising as it is welcome.

"Thank you," Harry breathes out against Hadrian's chest. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou." The words become a litany, and Hadrian just hugs the boy closer as he waits for it to pass.

"You're very welcome," he says once Harry finally draws back, eyes a little red and glasses crooked on his nose. "But now that this is out of the way, how would you like to see your new home?"

"I thought you didn't have one?" Harry asks with a confused frown, though he does grab the hand Hadrian's offering.

"I don't have a _house_ ," Hadrian corrects. "Well, not yet. But one does not need to have a house to have a home."

Harry nods along, but Hadrian can see that he's still confused. "I have a tent," he explains. At Harry's staring, he shrugs and adds, "I did say I used to go camping here."

"Isn't a tent a bit small though?" Harry asks tentatively, drawing in on himself like he's afraid of the reaction he's going to get. No, not _like_ – he is afraid. Or maybe more anxious. As much as he'd like it to be otherwise, Hadrian knows himself well enough to realize that having someone save him from the Dursleys won't be enough to erase all the damage they've already done, at least not immediately.

"Ah but you forget one thing," Hadrian replies with a wink, "it's a wizard's tent."

And with that he steps in though his wards, tugging Harry along. The boy gasps when the tent suddenly appears where only empty ground had been before. As Hadrian held his hand – and maybe as another version of him too, Harry had been immune to the Notice-Me-Not and other various redirection wards Harry had set up around his temporary residence, but he still hadn't been able to see the tent until they had stepped inside the confine of the wards.

"It doesn't look very magical," Harry says quietly after a moment. He's fidgeting again, eyes darting from the tent to Hadrian and then to the tent back again.

"The real magic is inside," Hadrian explains, trying not to laugh at the disappointment Harry is doing a poor job of hiding.

Harry sends him a skeptic look he probably thinks Hadrian can't see, but he does step toward the tent, pushing the piece of cloth that marks its entrance away carefully once he reaches it. His shoulders are drawn in tight, almost like he's bracing for disappointment, but he stumbles away the moment he sees the interior.

Luckily, Hadrian is there to catch him before he falls.

"It's bigger on the inside," Harry stutters, looking at Hadrian with wide eyes. "That's not – how is that possible?"

"I told you," Hadrian replies with a smile, "it's a wizard's tent. Now come on, let's see what we can do about getting you a proper room."

"I get a room?!"

If anything could ever make him change his mind about getting revenge on the Dursleys, it would be this: Harry's obvious excitement at the thought of getting something he should have always had. Maybe one day, Hadrian thinks, sparing a handful of seconds to dream up a few what-ifs, before he refocuses on the present. Harry needs him now. As long as that's true, Hadrian's not going to go anywhere.

 **.x.**

For Harry, this day has been surreal. It hadn't been at first, of course. In fact, it had been pretty normal, routine even. The sound of Aunt Petunia's rapid knocking on his cupboard's door had woken him up with a jolt, the way it usually did, and then he had gone on to make breakfast for his relatives.

It had been his job for almost two years now, and while Harry disliked the way his relatives never seemed to appreciate his work – but then again they never did, so that wasn't new – he also couldn't help but be proud of the fact that he made them happy, that they liked his food. They could deny it all they wanted, but Harry hadn't burnt anything in well over a year, and no one would eat so much of a food they didn't like so fast, not even his cousin and uncle.

Aunt Petunia had given him a list of chores for the day after that, and Harry had resigned himself to yet another day spent taking care of the garden under the burning sun.

Time always seems to pass differently when Harry was outside, so he isn't sure how long he worked there. The sun was still high in the sky, so probably no more than a few hours. He would forever remember the moment the stranger arrived.

There was no mistaking him for anything but family, and even though Harry tried very hard not to get his hopes up, the way the man looked at him, eyes angry and sad and above all else, determined made that very hard.

And then, like a scene out of one of Harry's dearest dreams, the ones he never dared to even voice aloud, the man had asked if he wanted to come with him, to get away from the Dursleys. And Harry knows, even now, that he's supposed to be careful around strangers (even though the Dursleys only ever bothered to teach that lesson to their son) and not trust them outright, but well. It was a way to escape the Dursleys.

For a moment, staring at black hair so like his own, if a little less wild, and eyes he recognized from the mirror, Harry had even believed that this man was his father, come to claim him. Harry couldn't help but stare, hope, painful hope bubbling in his chest as he led the man inside and to his aunt.

He's had so many dreams about this – about his parents turning out to be alive after all and having been looking for him instead of the dead, drunk nothing the Dursleys insist they were – that it was a little hard to tell truth from fiction for a little while.

At least until the man revealed himself to be Aunt Petunia's brother, Harry's other uncle. It had been clear, from the discussion, that Aunt Petunia hadn't known she had a brother, and though the way she so easily agreed to part with Harry (she didn't even fight, and the moment Harry realized he hadn't even really expected her to had been somehow more painful than the knowledge that she could just let him go so easily) hurt, knowing that he has an uncle that wants him more than made up for it.

The day had only gotten more real after that, with Hadrian revealing that they were magic, that _magic was real_. Harry has the terrible suspicion that the Dursleys knew and that it's why they hate him, and the way Hadrian's jaw keeps clenching whenever he mentions Petunia or hears Harry mention the way he was being treated only seems to confirm it.

He won't ask, though. Partly because he really doesn't need real confirmation, partly because he doesn't want to make Hadrian upset.

Besides, he has other things to think about, like the fact that Hadrian lives in a magical tent in the middle of the woods. A tent that is bigger on the inside than the outside – Harry's checked twice, running around the outside and the inside, until Hadrian chuckled and dragged him back inside, telling him that they should work on his room first.

Hadrian hadn't even been mean while getting him to come back inside. He had gripped Harry's arm, and it hadn't been painful at all, only firm and warm. Harry had had to blink back tears, and though he's pretty sure Hadrian saw, he's so very grateful the older man said nothing.

The inside of the tent looks like the inside of a house. Once he steps in, Harry finds himself in what he guesses is the tent equivalent of a living-room, decorated in warm earthly colors. It looks more homely than Privet Drive's ever managed to, despite the clutter and it not being an actual house, and Harry thinks he can finally see what Hadrian meant about a home not always having to be a home.

As he watches, Hadrian waves his wand and the room tidies itself up, clothes floating up and folding themselves, landing in a neat pile on a chair that looks more comfortable than any other chair Harry's ever seen. Dishes and mug float to the sink and start washing, water and soap doing the oddest but prettiest dance Harry's ever witnessed.

"Can I learn to do that?" Harry blurts out, before biting his tongue. He knows Hadrian told him he could ask anything, but well. Sometimes the Dursleys told him that too, only to come back on their words letter and punish Harry for disobeying.

Thankfully, Hadrian only chuckles. "Not for a little while, I'm afraid. Wizards and witches are only allowed to practice magic outside of school once they're of age, which is when they turn seventeen."

Harry pouts, then blinks. "Wait, there's a school?"

"Yes," Hadrian smiles. "Most countries have their own, but the own in Britain is called Hogwarts. Almost everyone goes there to learn magic, and it's a castle somewhere in Scotland."

"Almost everyone?" Harry asks, curious and unable to help himself.

"Yes. Some parents prefer to teach their children themselves, or to hire tutors. It used to be more common, I think, but now pretty much everyone goes to Hogwarts. You'll see what I mean when you get your letter." Hadrian sounds oddly wistful at that, falling silent for a few moments before his earlier cheer comes back, erasing any traces of his earlier sadness.

Harry has more questions – he doesn't think he's ever had so many, about anything – but he can wait. Something about Hadrian's tone tells him not push right now, and Harry's learned to trust his instincts when it comes to adults. They, at least, have yet to betray him.

Hadrian claps his hands and rubs them together, drawing himself up. "Now, let's see about your room." The room they stand him becomes a lot quieter as they leave, and Harry supposed the magic must only work when they're there.

There aren't really any doors, more like huge pieces of fabric that hangs from the ceiling and separate the tent in several rooms. The fabric is heavy and thick, and it works just as well as any door to keep someone's privacy intact.

Just before they cross the first threshold, something chirps in Harry's ear and an already familiar weight lands on his shoulder. It's the bird from earlier, and Harry can't help but smile as he reaches up to caress the soft feathers. It preens when Harry touches it, and Harry almost forgets that Hadrian's there until the man clears his throat.

He doesn't sound angry, more like amused, but Harry apologizes anyway, feeling his cheeks burn.

"Don't worry about it," Hadrian replies, waving the apology off. "I'm glad you seem to have made a friend, I guess. But you do realize that even if I don't cancel the spell that brought him here, this bird will not stay forever, right?" Hadrian is frowning, and it takes Harry a few moments to realize that the unfamiliar expression on his face is concern.

"I know," Harry replies quietly, heart twisting in his chest. He does know, but there is just something about the bird's presence, about its light weight on Harry's shoulder that is comforting.

Hadrian looks sad, for a moment, before he ruffles Harry's hair again. It's weird, how easily Harry's getting used to that gesture. No one before Hadrian ever ruffled his hair – no one ever cared enough to – and while at first it was a reflex to duck away and expect pain, now all Harry wants is for it to never end.

Besides, it's not like it can make his hair look any worse.

Hadrian nods. "As long as you're aware of it."

They step through the doorway and into the other room – it's behind the living-room, kind of round but much smaller. There's a small desk, tucked away in a corner and covered with what Harry thinks has to be a magical newspaper (the images are moving, _how is that happening?_ ), but none of that matters as the room opens into five others. These entrances are much smaller, wide enough for one person to step through at once where the one he and Hadrian just crossed was wide enough for the both of them and then some, but Harry is shivering in excitement at the thought of what could be on the other side.

Hadrian points to the one in the middle first. It's hidden behind a blue velvety drape that clashes a little with the reddish tones of the rest of the place, but it could have been yellow for that Harry cares.

"This is the bathroom," Hadrian explains, leaving Harry to wonder how a bathroom can work inside a tent. Then again, he did see a kitchen in a corner of the living-room. He guesses magic is the answer to that, even if it doesn't sound like a very good one.

Harry peeks inside, expecting something like the toilets at school with an added shower, and is blown away by the elegant decoration inside. It smells fresh, and it looks bigger and more luxurious than the Dursleys' bathroom ever was. The is a bath that could probably fit two Hadrian _and_ a shower, both with more dials than Harry would know what to do with, and towels that look more fluffy than a cloud.

Some of Harry's vicious gladness at the thought of this treasure the Dursleys will never see must show on his face because Hadrian winks and ruffles his hair again, before leading him to the next room.

The room on the far right is an office, and Harry doesn't get to go in without Hadrian.

"I bought this tent recently, and the previous owner didn't do a very good job of cleaning up everything. There's stuff in there that could be dangerous, so please stay away from it unless I'm there," Hadrian explains, looking annoyed at whoever this previous owner was.

The other three rooms are bedrooms. Hadrian's already claimed the one between the bathroom and the office, and it takes Harry only a few seconds to decide he wants the one on the left side of the bathroom.

Hadrian nods, and they step in, Harry nervously petting the bird that's still on his shoulder as Hadrian lifts the heavy garnet fabric to allow them to step through.

It looks wonderful. The room is about the size of the room Dudley had at Privet's Drive, but it looks neater and smells better than Dudley's room ever has, at least to Harry's memory. The bed is easily bigger than the one Dudley had too, with fluffy and warm-looking piled up on top as well as way too many pillows.

There's a chair and a desk, though both are bare, and a wooden wardrobe towers over the room on the other side of the bed.

There is even a window, though how that works when Harry didn't see one on the outside of the tent is a mystery.

"This is for me?" Harry croaks, hating the way he can feel his eyes watering again.

"Of course," Hadrian replies.

Harry runs his hand over the bedcovers, appreciating how smooth they feel, breathing in deeply to try to stave off the sobs he can feel building in his chest.

He's happy – he's finally happy, so why does he want to cry so much?

For the first time, Hadrian is the one to reach out and pull Harry into a hug. The first time Harry had done it, it had been an accident, a reflex he hadn't known he possessed. He had been so afraid Hadrian would push him away, but Hadrian hadn't. So now Harry won't push him away either.

Instead he burrows his head against Hadrian's stomach and fists his hands into the man's shirt, trying furiously to blink the tears away.

"You know, it's okay to cry sometimes."

It as if that's all Harry needed, because the tears start falling almost immediately after Hadrian's words. "I'm sorry," he sobs, "I swear I'm happy and the room is great and I really, really _love it_! I don't know why I'm crying!"

It feels a little like all he has done today is cry, and Harry hates it.

"It's fine, Harry," Hadrian replies. His hand is rubbing circles on Harry's back, and somehow that only makes the sobs grow stronger.

Harry doesn't know how long they stay like this, he crying and Hadrian patiently trying to comfort him as he's being cried all over. He's glad when it stops though.

"Feeling better?" Hadrian asks when Harry pulls back. He conjures up a handkerchief that floats down to Harry's hands, who blows his nose and wipes his tears.

"Yes," Harry replies, realizing that it's true only as he says it. He does feel better – lighter too. He smiles a little, lips stretching further and further until he's truly grinning.

"Good," Hadrian nods, and just like that the earlier scene is behind them. Not forgotten, Harry doesn't think, but they won't talk about it. "Because I think we need to do some redecorating in here. What do you think?"

Harry nods rapidly, not really trusting his voice. The walls do look a little bare and the room is kind of dark, what with the drapes al being dark shades of red.

"Can it be lighter?" Harry asks timidly.

"Of course," Hadrian replies, already waving his wand. A few words Harry doesn't catch later, and the walls are cream and cold, and the bedroom looks more inviting.

They stay in there for a while. At some point the bird flies away, heading outside. Harry hopes he'll see it again, but from the look on Hadrian's face he kind of doubts it. He's sad, but he has a lot to distract himself with.

This redecorating they're doing feels almost like a game – Hadrian points at something and asks how Harry likes it, Harry says that he likes it as it is and then Hadrian asks him how it could be better, Harry replies with some idea he has, and Hadrian demonstrates, changing whatever the object was into something else entirely to match up to Harry's ideas.

Sometimes the man also does the opposite, like turning a bedside lamp into a hissing cat and then a yellow teapot, and Harry realizes after the second time that the man only does it to make him laugh. It feels so very odd to know that Hadrian would go through all this trouble just to make him happy that for a moment Harry almost fears he'll start crying again.

Thankfully he doesn't, and eventually they run out of objects to change and have to leave the room, especially once Harry's stomach embarrassingly starts to grumble.

It's the first time in a very long time that Harry isn't the one to cook dinner, Hadrian all but ordering him to just sit and wait for the food. His method is much faster, Harry has to admit as the man waves his wand and food just starts to come out of the fridge, floating around in an odd dance.

The potatoes peel themselves and fly into a pan where a few minutes later chicken breasts join them, spices and herbs raining down from above as they do. Harry is so entranced he almost misses the moment the table sets itself, dishes and silverware seeming to appear out of nowhere.

The food is delicious, far better than anything Harry's ever tasted, and Harry tells Hadrian so when the man asks.

"Thank you," Hadrian replies, looking almost relieved. "I'm glad you liked it. The mother of a friend of mine taught me how to cook, and I'm glad I managed to do her recipe justice."

Treacle tart follows after, and Harry discovers what heaven feels like.

"This is my favorite dessert," Hadrian confesses as he polishes off his second slice.

Harry, who feels like he's about to explode and only had one, can only nod and smile, happy to find out that he shares this with family.

A clock Harry hadn't noticed rings nine pm, and Harry is surprised to find that it's already so late.

"I think it's time to go to bed," Hadrian says, wincing a little.

"Okay," Harry replies, shuffling off his chair and toward the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and when he steps inside his room, he finds a pair of pajamas waiting for him on the bed.

"They're one of mine and I shrunk them, so they should fit," Hadrian explains. There's an awkward moment where he just stands there at the door, before he steps inside and ruffles Harry's hair again. "Good night Harry."

"Good night," Harry replies, feeling a little stunned, and very grateful he doesn't have to dig through the stuff he brought from the Dursleys to find what he usually uses to sleep.

Hadrian leaves after that, and soon after Harry lies down the light in the room dulls down to a very low glow. His window shows a starry night sky, and it is beautiful.

Harry lies on the bed for a long time. It feels so soft, and very much like one of Hadrian's hugs (he hasn't had a lot of those, but they felt wonderful each time – Harry can't imagine why Dudley was always pulling faces when his parents hugged him, though Harry probably would have done the same had they tried).

When his eyes flutter shut, they do so almost without his notice, his energy finally seeming to have run out now that he's lying down, and his last thought before sleeps take him is that if this is a dream, he really doesn't want to wake up from it.


	3. Setting in Motion

Hi! Sorry for the delay, real life's gotten crazy. I don't know when I'll be able to write and post the next chapter, but at least my exams won't last forever and in two weeks and a half I'm on holidays so I'll definitely be able to write then.

Hope you enjoy this! Cheers!

 **Chapter 3: Setting in Motion**

It's probably not exactly responsible of him to leave Harry alone for the night, but there are things Hadrian needs to do, things that cannot wait for tomorrow. Besides, it's not like he's leaving his younger self unprotected: no one knows where Harry is, and even if they did they'd have to get past his wards. If they were good enough in the middle of war, they'll be good enough for this peaceful time too.

Knowing all this doesn't really stop him from feeling slightly guilty, nor from swearing solemnly to himself to be back as soon as possible, and before Harry wakes.

He considers casting a spell on the boy's door that will let him know when it is opened – he could use a spell to get a warning when Harry wakes, but that feels too much like an invasion of privacy – and eventually does it, swearing to himself he'll dispel it once he gets back.

He turns his clothes black after that, hoping to make himself less noticeable even without magic. Even now, after years spent in the magical world, he still prefers muggle fashion, though magical materials are often softer on the skin, so that, at least, won't be a problem.

Finally, Hadrian exits the tent silently, a shrunken pouch containing what's left of the money he had with him when he appeared in this time, as well as what little he's gather since then, in his pocket, wand tucked away in the holster tied to his wrist.

Of the birds he conjured earlier to amuse Harry, only one is left – if Hadrian's not mistaken, it's even the one the boy has grown so fond of. It is perched on one of the neighboring branches, eyes staring straight at the tent's entrance, and when Hadrian exits it, at his face.

He snorts, somewhat amused. He has no idea how or why the bird is still there when his companions have already returned to the ether they came from, but if it means Harry gets a protector as fierce as this one looks for a little while longer, Hadrian doesn't mind it. In fact, he welcomes it.

The bird just keeps staring, barely moving, and in the end Hadrian shrugs and twists on his heels, Apparating away with a loud _crack_.

He reappears in Surrey, wincing. No matter how many times he does it, Apparating doesn't really get any more comfortable. It's a shame it's the fastest and easiest way to travel undetected, because Hadrian would be glad to never have to use it ever again.

It takes him but a second to cast on himself enough Notice-Me-Nots and Muggle-repealing spells to make sure that anyone who would notice him wouldn't do so for long, and then he is striding toward the tall government building that is his aim.

As an Auror, he had been required to know how to mingle with muggles – how to disappear among them, if the need ever came. His upbringing had been somewhat of an advantage there, though not as much as it was for muggleborns who hadn't been raised by magic-fearing relatives like Harry had been, but eventually he had had to learn, same as everyone else, how to create a new identity.

This is what he's about to do now, though he's going to go a bit further than the usual quick job he's had to do a couple of times.

The thing about muggles, Hadrian thinks as he silently sneaks into the building, Alohomora opening the doors before him, is that it is terribly easy to infiltrate their government when you have magic.

There are exceptions, of course. The royal family, for example, knows full well about magic and there are wards and many failsafe to protect them as well as ensure no one, magical or otherwise, would be able to usurp them. The Prime Minister is aware of magic as well, and as such his office is protected.

But everywhere else? It's pretty much a free for all. Hadrian isn't sure if it's an actual oversight that no one thought to warn muggles about, if the muggles are allowing it as part of an agreement Hadrian isn't privy to, or if it's a deliberate loophole magicals left in the muggle's system. Knowing the magical world and the mentalities there, Hadrian wouldn't be surprised if it was a mix of the three.

Whatever it is though, right now it will work in Harry's favor. There is nothing protecting birth certificates from duplication spells, and though in a few years everything would be digitalized and this harder to access for a magical, right now everything is still on paper, and as such unprotected and easy to access and copy.

Well, for a wizard who knows what he's doing, that is.

After copying the forms, Hadrian fills them with the information he gave Petunia what feels like a century ago. More papers, more duplication spells, and soon enough Hadrian Evans has a whole life, one where he has custody of his nephew - at least on paper.

He finds that the woman he claimed was his mother died six months ago, and while the thought is saddening, Hadrian can't help but be somewhat relieved that he at least won't have to fiddle with the woman's memories. Making her think she has a son would have been slightly too immoral for Hadrian's tastes, though he believes that for Harry, to protect this boy who deserves a better childhood than the one Hadrian himself got, he'd have done it.

Finally, when he judges his work sufficient, Hadrian moves on to the hardest part: erasing the traces of magic on the documents. After all, while a muggle would never be able to tell the difference between Hadrian's false paper trail and a real person's, a wizard might, especially if they had the same kind of training Hadrian himself had.

There are ways to track magic, as the Trace proves, and though those are hard to put in place, finding magic is not. Luckily, it is also very easy to defend against, even if that particular piece of knowledge is preciously guarded by the Ministry.

The trick of it is dissipate the remnants of energy that always linger after a spell is cast by reabsorbing them, either on something the caster is carrying or in the earth itself, without unraveling the spells you're trying to protect.

It took Hadrian a while to get it right at first, and the thought of the many, many times he and Ron and ribbed at each other over their failed attempts is enough to make him bite back a fond chuckle.

So now Hadrian puts that knowledge to the test once more, pulling at the ambient magic his spells have added to until it is back to normal levels, his faked paperwork now as real-looking to a magical as it is to a muggle.

He puts the papers in their proper places after that, and erases any trace of his presence there with the flurry of cleaning spells he's learned for this kind of occasions. Pulling back the residual magic from those spells is slightly harder, but not by much, though it does make his wand arm tingle from channeling it.

This is but his first stop, however. Being an Auror has taught him the ways to build a proper cover for an operation, and while he borrows form that, this is more than a simple cover. This is a life Hadrian's building there, and with Harry's happiness at stake, he can't make mistakes.

It is entirely possible all of this will amount to nothing, that these are just useless precautions. On the other hand, it is also entirely possible that someone will figure out that he took Harry and try to check him out.

It would be potentially catastrophic if whoever ended up running that background check found that Hadrian Evans hadn't existed before he took Harry Potter with him, which is why Hadrian has to cover all bases.

His second stop is the hospital the closest to where his supposed mother lived. It is easy to go back by twenty-five years in their paperwork and add another birth there. With it having happened so long ago, no one will ever think to question it, and it is doubtful anyone will remember one particular baby among the dozens of others born in the same period of time.

It plays a little with his own age – Hadrian is older than twenty-five, though he could easily look that age, what with magic slowing down his aging and his small build – but not so much that he feels uncomfortable doing it. In age, it makes him three years younger than Lily Evans, though he is now older than his mother ever got to be.

After the hospital, he Apparates to the school he would have attended as a child had he actually been living there. Only sparsely lit by moonlight and streetlights, the old building looks almost haunted, and though Hadrian has been to worse places, it still makes a shiver run down his spine.

The records he finds in the principal's office are scarce, and it is easy to add another student there too, his spells easily modifying the records to make him an average, mostly unmemorable student. It is doubtful that any staff who was there twenty to fifteen years ago is still there and remembers one child that all files will describe as 'unremarkable', but just in case Hadrian places a small curse on the cabinet's handle.

It is barely a curse – all it does is merely bury deep in the person's subconscious the idea that 'Hadrian Evans' did indeed attend this school. It will fade on its own in a few months, but hopefully by then enough people will have been affected that it won't matter.

The hard parts come next: his 'mother' has a whole neighborhood who could testify that there never was any 'Hadrian Evans'. Fabricating memories has never been Hadrian's forte – there too, Hermione was much more skilled than him – and them having to be aimed at so many people at once only makes it harder, but thankfully Hadrian has learned other ways to make this work.

Here too, a 'curse' is the easiest solution. It was in his second year as an Auror that Hadrian discovered how skilled he was with curses, or rather any kind of magic that affected more than a single individual at a time.

There's a beauty to the craft, he thinks, and though most of the times 'curses' are used for evil purposes, they are a wonderful medium for pranks, among so much else.

He is biting back on his laughter as he breaks into the post office and 'curses' that neighborhood's mail. Even if no one will get the irony, he will, and it is difficult not to laugh at it. The 'curse' will carry the memories Hadrian infuses in it, as well as lingering feelings of fondness for the boy who grew up there and moved out a few years before his mother died. They will know Hadrian, the boy who got his father's eyes and name, and not much else, and they will remember him.

It is exhausting work. It isn't the first such 'curse' Hadrian has cast (that had been an accident to be entirely honest, that had occurred on a mission in the muggle world, and when he had told his friends about it, Hermione had been fascinated by the phenomenon and had insisted Hadrian test this new skill, while Ron had egged her on, much to Hadrian's annoyance), but it is the first time he aims it as such a wide area.

It would have been easier, and cost him less energy, to 'curse' a single object that would have been passed around, or a place these people would have gone to. But at least with the mail, he's sure to get everyone quickly, and it will be less noticeable, with less risk of backfiring on him.

It won't change any of the lives of this city's inhabitants, but it will greatly help Hadrian.

The last stop, at least for now, is the hardest.

Hadrian has hated cemeteries since Hermione and he visited Godric's Hollows' back during the Horcrux Hunt, and though he has never missed an anniversary since he found out where his parents were buried, visiting their tomb has always made him feel… uneasy.

This feeling, that cemeteries are _too_ peaceful, carries over in other cemeteries too, and this one is no exception.

It takes him far longer than he'd have liked to find his goal – he eventually has to resort to using a 'Point Me' spell, cursing himself quietly for not thinking of it earlier – but once he does, the stone slab is somehow unmistakable.

He burns the name there in his mind – _Selene Smith_ , it reads, followed by dates closer together than Hadrian had expected. It is difficult to think of this stranger as his mother, but Hadrian endeavors to do so anyway. Everything he's been told about Lily Potter née Evans lets him think that his mother wouldn't mind this – would understand and perhaps even approve of her son adopting someone else as his mother, if it meant protecting someone precious to them.

Still, it's hard not to feel like he's betraying the woman who died for him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the tomb, and he's not sure to which mother he's apologizing. The one he's essentially replacing, or the one whose life he just spent half the night rewriting?

He stands there, silent and unmoving for a while, unsure of what to say, or if even he should say more. The wind ruffles his hair, warm and soft, and if Hadrian closes his eyes it almost sounds approving.

Well, he has witnessed weirder things.

"Thank you," he finally say, once again unsure which woman he's addressing. Perhaps both, perhaps either. "I'll take care of Harry, I swear," he tells the ghost of Lily Evans. "I won't sully your name," he promises the bones of Selene Smith.

When he leaves, her tombstone sports two new words, the engraving curved and stylish.

It reads _Beloved Mother_.

With one last twist on his heels, Hadrian Apparates back to the place he calls home for now. The forest is barely starting to wake up as he slips inside the tent, and his last thought after he unravels the spell he cast on Harry's door is to hope that the boy will take this chance to oversleep.

 **.x.**

Harry wakes up slowly, sleep having dug its hook deep into his mind. He yawns as his eyes flutter open and his limbs stretch underneath the covers, and that, even more than the silence that's been bugging him since he first started to wake up, is what truly tells him that this wasn't a dream.

Yesterday really happened – he has family that isn't the Dursleys, family that wants him and _came for him_ , and his family has _magic_. _He_ , Harry Potter, has magic too.

The thoughts make his lips stretch into a smile, and it is such a nice contrast with the way he usually woke up at the Dursleys, dragged away from sleep by Aunt Petunia's high-pitched voice as she rasped her knuckles on the door to his cupboard, that he has to bury his face into his pillow to feel like he has some control over the emotions he feels.

Slowly, the happiness abates a little. It doesn't leave, no entirely, but it does fade enough for Harry to start doubting himself. Hadrian doesn't truly know him, after all – what if the older man changes his mind, decides that Harry is a freak after all?

What if Hadrian decides that he doesn't want Harry after all, and brings him back to the Dursleys? They'd kill him, he thinks, if he came back after they thought they had gotten rid of him, and at that thought Harry shivers and draws his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly.

He doesn't know for how long he stays like this, but eventually his stomach grumbles and his limbs start itching at him to move, so Harry does. His room looks different in the morning light, somehow. It looks realer than it had yesterday. As he slips down from the bed, shivering as he leaves the warmth of the covers, he realizes that it truly does look like _his_ room, like it belongs to him, and he, in return, belongs there.

He finds his way back to the living-room/kitchen he and Hadrian were last night easily. The tent looks even more magical now that Harry has had a chance to grow a little used to it, and he truly hopes he won't ever lose that feeling.

Once he gets there though, he stops. He doesn't really know what he should do – Hadrian didn't really tell him what they'd be doing today, nor did he give him any rules about what Harry could and couldn't do, and though Harry would usually refer himself to the rules the Dursleys gave him, Hadrian doesn't seem to like those much. Besides, he already broke them by allowing Harry to eat at the table with him until he wasn't hungry anymore, and he gave him a room of his own.

This would be so much easier if Hadrian was awake, he thinks mournfully, but it's not like he can do anything about it. Well, he _could_ , but he won't. Even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, for all that they adored their little Duddykins, hated being woken up by their son when they had the opportunity to stay in bed.

Besides, Harry doesn't really have a way to tell time. For all he knows, it might be really early. Aunt Petunia liked to make him wake earlier than anyone else so that he could prepare breakfast before they came down the stairs after all, and sometimes (rarely, but still), Harry was awake even before she knocked on his door.

This does give him an idea though – one that would even solve both his hunger and the problem he has with not knowing what to do.

After all, surely Hadrian won't get too mad if Harry makes breakfast for him too?

With this goal in mind, Harry advances toward the kitchen, eyes roaming over the shelves to find what to do and, more importantly, how to do it. Hadrian had used magic to make their dinner, but Harry can't very well do that now, can he, so he will have to make do with what he knows.

It shouldn't be too difficult – everything looks pretty much the same as in Aunt Petunia's kitchen, after all.

 **.x.**

Hadrian doesn't really know what causes him to awaken so suddenly, heart pounding in his chest. It's usually the reaction he has to nightmares, but even as he casts his mind back to the quickly escaping shreds of dreams that lingers in his mind still, he finds no trace of the terror and pain he's learned to associate with his darker dreams.

As he waits for his heart to calm, he listens for anything that might have caused his alarm. A quick Tempus shows him that it is well into the morning – and with that he realizes what must have woken him up.

Running a hand through his hair, Hadrian gets up. He definitely didn't get enough sleep, but it was well worth it, and besides, it's nothing a dose of Pepper-Up can't solve, even though the taste is still terrible.

Despite knowing that Harry can't be in any real danger, Hadrian hurries toward the kitchen area of the tent, cursing himself in his head. It's where he'd be after all, and he should definitely have expected something like this.

He gets there just in time to see Harry, balancing on an unstable pile of chairs, overreach. Sparing a fraction of a second to thank the instincts that woke him up, Hadrian casts a spell to slow Harry's fall and immediately after that, another to cushion the ground.

"Are you alright?" He manages to croak out once Harry's feet are back on solid ground.

For a moment, the boy doesn't reply, just shakes, and Hadrian's mind starts running through disaster scenarios, each more terrible than the one before it.

Finally, Harry mumbles something too quietly for Hadrian to hear, and his heart constricts painfully even as he breathes out in relief.

Good news is, Harry doesn't appear to be injured, but bad news is that, judging from the way he's slowly inching away from Hadrian, he's afraid of being punished.

 _(Merlin, he is so lucky to know Harry so well – with any other child, Hadrian thinks he would screw up even more than he already had. Somehow, even teaching at Hogwarts or babysitting his friends' kids didn't prepare him for this)_

"I'm not angry, you know," Hadrian states matter-of-factly as he steps around Harry to rummage through the cupboards the boy had been trying to reach. "I'm just glad you haven't been hurt."

He lets Harry read the truth on his face, and ruffles the boy's hair when he finally smile, trembling thing as it might be.

"Now why don't you go sit at the table while I fix us some breakfast?"

Harry seems to hesitate for a moment, but in the end he nods and goes to the table, sitting at the exact same spot he had yesterday. Keeping an eye on him, Hadrian loses himself in his cooking for a few moments, until finally everything is ready.

Harry waits for Hadrian to pile up food on his plate, but once Hadrian does that, rolling his eyes a little and gesturing at the boy to start eating, he digs in happily and devours everything on his plate.

Neither of them speaks until the food is gone, but the silence is companionable anyway.

"You know, you could have come to wake me up," Hadrian finally says, at the same time as Harry blurts out a, "I'm sorry! I won't do it again!", before he bites his lips when he realizes he interrupted Hadrian.

"Well, go on," Hadrian says kindly.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeats, though his tone is calmer this time. He's avoiding Hadrian's eyes and playing with his cutlery nervously, but he doesn't sound nearly as afraid as Hadrian might have expected him to be.

"And what are you sorry for?"

"For getting into the kitchen without your permission? I won't do it again, I swear, it's just that I was…" Harry trails off, cheeks reddening, but Hadrian's mind completes the sentence for him.

 _Hungry_ , it says, and the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "I'm not angry," he repeats, because clearly Harry needs to be reassured about that. "I wish you had woken me up, or waited – the kitchen is a dangerous place for a seven year-old, but I understand that you were hungry."

"But I did stuff in the kitchen all the time at the Dursleys'," Harry say incredulously.

Hadrian grits his teeth, eyes flashing angrily. "And we all know that the Dursleys are a paragon of virtue when it comes to child's safety," he spits between his teeth, before he manages to swallow back his anger.

Thankfully, Harry ignores his anger, chuckling in that almost-giggle of his he does whenever Hadrian criticizes his previous guardians in front of him.

"I was fine," he still protests, but Hadrian can see it is half-hearted at best.

"Well, for my peace of heart if nothing else, I'd appreciate it if you made sure I was there to supervise if you decide to cook again, alright?"

Harry nods quickly. "Yes, I promise."

Hadrian chuckles. "Alright. And again, never hesitate to find me, or wake me up if you have a problem. I'd rather lose a little sleep than find out that you've hurt yourself."

Harry blinks rapidly, trying to chase away the stinging in his eyes. "I will," he replies, hoping his voice doesn't sound as choked up as he feels.

Hadrian just smiles back kindly, before stretching his arms behind his back, making his back pop a little. "Well, now that this is done, I think your wardrobe is due for an upgrading…" He winks, and Harry flushes, looking down at his clothes. "It won't be a bother," Hadrian swears, familiar enough with his younger self's thought process to stop any such protest in its tracks.

"I guess it'll be fine, then," Harry replies hesitantly.

Hadrian nods determinedly. "Then you go brush your teeth, shower, and I'll bring you a change of clothes so we can go." He plans on shrinking some more of his clothes, but doesn't mention it. Whether Harry knows this or not changes nothing, in the end, so it doesn't really matter.

Harry nods, and as he hurries toward the bathroom, Hadrian clears the table. He too needs a shower, but that can wait until Harry is done.

He isn't looking forward to the shopping. He's grown used to having to do it over the years, but he's never learned to truly enjoy it. With any luck, Harry will be different there.

 **.x.**

It takes them a lot longer than he had thought to get enough clothes for Harry, and it depletes a good portion of the money he had left too. He will worry about this later though – for now he's just happy that Harry's happy and that the boy seems to be enjoying himself, chattering at Hadrian as they walk back to the tent, their bags of purchase carefully shrunk in Hadrian's pockets.

It only makes him realize everything he still has to deal with: moving them out of the tent and into a real house, getting a job or at least a way of income, getting Harry re-enrolled in school…

He has time though. This is the summer holidays still, so school isn't in session, and with a Confundus or two, he's pretty sure he can get Harry enrolled anywhere pretty much anywhen.

It is thinking about school, about how his own schooldays before Hogwarts were the closest thing to a torture he'd been able to visualize back then and finally about how lonely Harry will undoubtedly eventually get with only Hadrian for company, that an idea comes to his mind.

Harry needs a friend – well, friends, though one would be a good beginning – and while Hadrian can't make those choices for Harry, he can certainly give him a push in the right direction.

It shouldn't even take much: Harry has a kind heart, and Hadrian is willing to bet anything that if he sees Hermione in trouble, as Hadrian knows she will eventually be (she's not bullied the way Harry and Hadrian were, he knows, but her time at school before Hogwarts also wasn't as happy as it could have been – as it should have been, because Hermione too deserves the best the world can offer), Harry will intervene.

Now to find out where the Grangers live…


End file.
